


Want Not for Change

by cloudsarefluffy



Category: Red Dead Redemption, Red Dead Redemption 2
Genre: And love, Anyways, Arthur Morgan Deserves Nice Things, Arthur Morgan/Reader - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Feels, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I had to post this here because I don't know how tumblr is with fics anymore tbh, M/F, Mary Linton - Freeform, Not Beta'd, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, RDR2, Reader fic - Freeform, Self-Insert, Tumblr Ask Box Fic, angst with happy ending, arthur morgan - Freeform, binch - Freeform, gender neutral reader, hecc, im sad, m/m - Freeform, no major spoilers, okay, only goes about into the start of ch 2 in the game, prompt, reader - Freeform, red dead redemption 2 - Freeform, rude ass, she angers me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-05
Packaged: 2019-09-12 00:23:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16862764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsarefluffy/pseuds/cloudsarefluffy
Summary: On Tumblr, Anon asked:hi I would love an arthurxreader fix if you could plz. reader has been riding with the gang for some months (you can choose the past or whatever) and when they head up to horseshoe to camp, Mary suddenly reappears and throws everything into a huge mess when she asks arthur to save her brother. angst and feels plz, and obvs endgame is readerxarthur---And normally, you don't snoop and you keep to yourself, but Arthur acting like this has driven you up the wall. So, in a moment of brashness, you go over to his tent, quickly grabbing the ripped envelope that he had left behind on his cot.Your heart stutters, and your breath catches.In cursive you could never hope to write, it is there. Arthur's woman of many names.Mary.(Posted here on AO3 because I'm not sure how the Tumblr purge is with fics anymore.)





	Want Not for Change

**Author's Note:**

> Sup everyone! 
> 
> So, I wanted to do a quick prompt fill for some of my Red Dead Redemption 2 prompts. This game has taken over my life, and Arthur Morgan, my heart. It's good shit, my friends.
> 
> Normally, I would try and post this as a response to the ask on my blog, since this is kind of a more specific fandom/fic type than my usual escapades. But, due to the recent Tumblr purge and how broken their algorithm is with flagging supposedly nsfw content, I just decided it would be better to not take the risk with posting fic directly onto the site anymore.
> 
> Sorry if this isn't you cup of tea, but that's unfortunately the party we've found ourselves in!
> 
> Now, about this!
> 
> So, I just want to also say that I dislike Mary Linton. A lot. Some people apparently do like her, but how I don't know. I'm not fond of her, because frankly, she just uses Arthur and strings him along all the god damn time. 
> 
> Like Arthur said: he's not good enough to marry into the family, but he's apparently good enough to get her brother back after running off, so Mary lures him in with a letter that makes it sound like she wants to get back together in some way, only so she can beg him to help her. 
> 
> And then she goes off and begs him to help her with her father and his gambling problems, after her father was the one who ruined their relationship, and Arthur had to go get whatever he gambled away back. 
> 
> It's just family shit that she pretty much begs Arthur to do for the sake of a relationship that she doesn't even let him have with her BECAUSE of her family.
> 
> Arthur deserves so much better, and I hate Mary Linton.
> 
> So yeah, I wrote with a slant towards her, but that's to be expected. 
> 
> Also, with John, the reason he talks the way he does at the beginning of the fic is actually based on a conversation I overheard while playing today. He was legit going on and on to Bill, Reverand, and Uncle about how women (Abigail) are the worst and he said he'd shoot Abigail if he could because he was so done with her shit. 
> 
> Which, rude much, Marston?
> 
> Either way, that's what the initial conversation is about, so I promise it's not shit I'm throwing in there to make John look like an ass or anything. (I honestly prefer the matured RDR1 version of him because I wanna kick his ass so hard in this game like brother what is u doin'?)
> 
> Hope you guys get a kick outta this!
> 
> If you want to see some more RDR2/Arthur Morgan works, just comment below or hit my prompt box (link in last author's note)!
> 
> Enjoy!~

"Love, I think, is a fool's game," John starts, and you and the girls roll your eyes as he starts on one of his infamous tangents about women and their sad, sad offerings to men.

You take a seat at the fire anyways, taking a bottle of whiskey that Uncle was nursing before he passed out against the log beside you, snoring. You can't help but smirk as you take a sip, glad to find at least something amusing as John looks like he stepped in horse shit as he complains.

"Women are just— they're _animals_ to us men. What they want is what has to be, and nothing else. I swear, I just want to disappear forever, or if I could, I just would go back to tell myself not to bother at all."

It's not the first time John has gone off like this.

He usually does so after a decent tizzy with Abigail, and usually, it's over something she wants or expects John to do, and his refusal to go along. You always feel bad for her, especially when John goes and makes the talk around the fire about his apparent distaste, and he tries to warn the other men in the camp away from women as though they were omens for their deaths.

He's far too immature about it, even if he does truly love Abigail deep down.

"Marston, you're too harsh," you chide at him, and he narrows his gaze at you, "Not all women are perfect admittedly, but neither are you. 'Sides, Abigail is only worried for Jack. You really faultin' her for that?"

Karen nudges your shoulder from where she sits down on the log beside you, and she snickers at the expression John makes at your words.

"Nah, it's just— I don't fault her for tryin' to be a good mom to Jack. I'm faultin' her for tryin' to run my god damn life, the way she is."

You subtly roll your eyes, and you hide it as you take another sip of the whiskey. With the way John is riled up tonight, it's best you be drunk to endure it.

"Ever think the two go hand in hand, John? It's not like Jack isn't your kid or anythin'," Karen snorts.

John makes an aggravated noise, "See? Even you two come in on me like she does. Maybe it's not just love that's the problem, just— nevermind, I'm not gonna even bother finishin'..."

"Probably best if you don't."

At the familiar voice, you and Karen turn to see Arthur smirking softly at John, and you both light up at his arrival.

He looks a bit worn, having been gone for a few days now running errands for Dutch and Hosea as they prepared for the heist in Blackwater. His scruff is a little longer, almost so to be called a beard, but there's a warm crinkle to his eyes as he looks over to you and Karen.

"Arthur! We ain't seen you for days!" Karen exclaims, and she scoots over and pats the log between you two, "Come on, come sit! We were just roastin' John like a pig since he's talkin' like one!"

"That you weren't!" John huffs, and he takes an angry swig of his whiskey as Arthur plops down between you and Karen, "Arthur would agree with me, unlike you two!"

"Agree with what now, exactly?" Arthur asks, and he glances at you and Karen for a second before looking back to John.

Karen chuckles, and you pass the bottle of whiskey to Arthur as she speaks, "John says love is a fool's game. Really, he's just talkin' sour about Abigail, but what's new?"

Arthur sounds off a small chuckle, and shakes his head lightly before taking his hat off, "Ah, I see."

From his seat, John pinches the bridge of his nose and glares towards his and Abigail's tent, "Trust me, her name might be Abigail for me, but this kind of woman goes by many names..."

To your surprise, Arthur hums in wordless agreement, taking a swig of whiskey. This peaks your own and Karen's interest, and you share a look as Arthur downs a pretty good amount of the bottle in one long drag.

In truth, you were sweet on Arthur, and had been for some time.

It was hard not to be, considering. He was handome, but a good man to boot. He was always nice to you, even when no one in the gang was as trusting or open as they are now. He was always willing to help and save you no matter what was going on, and he even taught you how to shoot among other things that kept you alive up until this point.

He was an outlaw with a heart of gold, and so, he managed to steal yours.

Which, was not ideal, to say the least... Because Arthur, he didn't get sweet on no one. He didn't even go into town to pay for someone to be sweet on him, even if just for a night. He refused countless offers, and never pursued a damn soul.

So it hurt a bit, to know that some woman was lucky enough to be given what others wanted— what you wanted— and that they threw it all away. Over what, you're not sure, but you can tell by the way Arthur's eyes look dull and heartbroken that it was something worthy of sorrow and a good bit of whisky.

It might be prying, it might be a little too personal, but you can't help your pride and curiosity from getting the better of you.

"What was her name for you, Arthur?" you ask.

Things go quiet for a little bit, and Arthur stares hard at the flames of the fire in front of you. The silence puts an unexpected edge to the conversation, and you feel some regret pull at you for being so nosy. Even John looks a bit sympathetic, and Karen seems to have realized where things were going with how she frowns so sourly.

"Her name was Mary."

You nod, softly, but don't say anything else. You don't dare to now, with how grim Arthur appears. You can tell it's an old wound, but one not quite healed. Not quite one to go poking at.

"There's always the one," John murmurs, his gruff voice like canon fire in the silence that lapsed between you all.

"That there is," Arthur murmurs.

And that's all you spoke about it.

Months passed, after that.

The robbery attempt with the boat in Blackwater went sour. More so rancid, if you were to be honest.

The law was hot on your tail, and you'd been pushed out of West Elizabeth and into the Grizzlies right as a blizzard approached. You and the gang had more important things to face— like getting food, staying warm, hoping to God the Pinkertons or the O'Driscoll's weren't right outside the rotten doors of the abandoned mining town you'd managed to hole up in.

You lost a few good souls too, so you spent what little time mourning being paranoid that the next moment was going to be your last. It made what was already an awful situation one of nightmares.

But now you were in the Heartlands, near Valentine, with your camp being set up in Horseshoe. It was still chilly and overcast, but it sure as hell beat the feet of snow and the frigid winds of the Grizzles any day.

It was so much easier here, and for the first time in many weeks, there was a glimmer of hope back in the camp, and especially within Dutch.

He had that twinkle in his eye, and a little twitch in his hands, and you knew that he was back to plotting something again. You're not sure if you were too excited about that, but Dutch is Dutch, and asking him to refrain is like expecting water to flow upstream.

So, you tried to settle as best you could after everything.

You got to go into Valentine with Arthur, Hosea, and the girls. Of course, Karen was up to no good, and Tilly couldn't ever spare a man a scolding from her tongue. You tried to defuse the situation, but all you got was a pistol aimed your way and an enraged Arthur Morgan coming to spare you and the girls from your own crafted fates.

Needless to say, your first time in town ended with Arthur slugging three men in the face and having to high tail it with you and the others, coated in mud and splatters of crimson like the wild brute of an outlaw he is.

He laughed about it, despite his sore jaw, but you weren't too chipper about the whole thing despite him trying to humor you on the ride back to camp.

It was going to bring attention to him for sure, which, was the last thing you all needed.

But what attention it did bring was the most unexpected of all.

It wasn't uncommon for the gang to receive mail.

Strauss had a few ins with the train stations for his "business practices," so they could help work in any letters or other documents for those in the gang from New Austin all the way to Roanoke Ridge.

And it's not that Arthur had ever gone without mail, just, he had from the person who sent it.

You still remember when Arthur received it, when Ms. Grimshaw was passing out what they had gathered at the station. She had an expression about her, one she rarely ever carried on her features, before handing Arthur a pristine white envelope with delicate handwriting on the front.

You just happened to keep on looking, and a few other members of the gang stopped as Arthur dropped his mug of coffee into the dirt below, completely transfixed on the letter in his hands.

He quickly made it into his tent, ripping the envelope apart to read with the most urgency you've seen since he ran back to tell you the Blackwater heist was botched, and you needed to run with him.

He threw the envelope onto the bed before abruptly standing, and you could feel your stomach start to sink.

You tried to ask him what was going on, what was happening, but Arthur ignored you as he stormed past. His face was stern, and so was his vice on the letter and his reigns as he quickly got onto his horse.

Galloping off, he left you there, mouth still open from where you were talking to him, and you felt your heart sink a little more.

A hand on your shoulder jolted you, and you sucked in a sharp breath as Hosea came up beside you.

"Don't even need to read that to know who it's from," he states, his voice sounding tired, and a bit sad.

"Is— is that bad?"

"Don't know," Hosea answers honestly, "It could be. She was never really anything good for him, pray as he might. Let's just hope this time, she doesn't break his heart again."

You frowned, but Hosea smiles somberly at you and pats your shoulder before going on, leaving you there in your confusion.

And normally, you don't snoop and you keep to yourself, but Arthur acting like this has driven you up the wall. So, in a moment of brashness, you go over to his tent, quickly grabbing the ripped envelope that he had left behind on his cot.

Your heart stutters, and your breath catches.

In cursive you could never hope to write, it is there. Arthur's woman of many names.

_Mary._

You throw the paper like it burned you, and you inhale sharply through your nose. You're unsure as to what to do, but, you just know you want out of Arthur's tent, especially before anyone catches you snooping out here in the open.

You slink back to your tent, brain and emotions muddled, as you try to hide your shame like the hot tears that roll over your cheeks.

\---

Arthur is gone for a few days, and you try to spend them from thinking about him.

But you can't, even if not on purpose. He's a dull ache in the back of your mind, like a sore muscle that won't stop pulling, but you try to do your best to manage until things get better.

You get to hunt with Charles, which is fun. You're not a perfect shot, but you're a good one (thanks to Arthur), so it helps get your mind off things as best it can. It also helps you feel a little better about yourself when you bring a few rabbits for Pearson to take care of for stew.

You also got Dutch in a good mood, because you managed to fix his favorite vest that was rather beat up after Blackwater, so there was that at least, too.

But your mind kept going back to Arthur— about what he was doing, who he was seeing. And your heart would ache, your eyes would sting.

But it was just something you had to endure, and you hoped that, for whatever was to come, that the outcome was to be good for Arthur, in the end.

But then he comes back sometime during the night.

You were asleep, but the galloping of his horse and Bill's yelling over a possible intruder woke you. You were still blinking drearily, but you were able to make out Arthur's figure storming to his tent, and you could feel the anger radiating off of him despite you being set up across camp from him.

You weren't sure how to feel about it— his obvious upset. If you should be happy that he didn't leave his apparent visit from Mary like he'd seen her hang the moon, or if you should be worried with the way he seems to act like she tried to hang him instead.

You still aren't sure how to feel about it, that morning, when Arthur ends up joining you at the fire to eat what was leftover from last night, and to brew up some coffee.

There's barely any souls awake in camp at this hour, and by the way dark circles rest under his narrowed eyes, you are sure that Arthur shouldn't be one of them.

You open your mouth to say something, but refrain, unsure of what to say. If Arthur notices your sad attempt, he doesn't say anything, he simply stabs at his stew as he eats it like it's at fault for everything he's in a stupor over.

Defeated, you cup your coffee in your hands and look to your lap, uncertain of how to bring any comfort or relief to the man brewing within his own storm across from you.

"What?" Arthur snaps briskly, and his tone is colder than the light nip to the air this morning, "I can tell you're just tryin' to say somethin' over there, so just say it."

"I don't know what to say," you answer quietly, and Arthur frowns harder at his stew.

"Just—" Arthur sighs, and he reigns in his fire a bit, only to tense up his shoulders before leveling a look at you, "I don't want to snap at you..."

You nod once, weakly, before looking back to your coffee, "It's fine... I kinda gathered from Hosea that somethin' was goin' on."

"You could call it that," the gruff cowboy sighs, and he leans back a little bit, closing his eyes and looking the most drained that you have ever seen him.

"W-What happened?"

Arthur peaks an eye open to look at you, deciding for a moment on whether it's worth the breath to even talk about it, but he relents, letting out a thick exhale before running a hand over his face.

"Mary did. Again," he starts, his fingers running through his scruff on his chin, "She— she was a past thing I had, when we was younger. Loved her, I did. We were even engaged."

You swallow thickly, but say nothing.

"She's was raised to be part of fine society," Arthur says then, with some distaste, "Educated, proper. All that good stuff that no one else is, 'specially me. Her daddy never approved of me, and he ended up drivin' us apart. Said I wasn't good 'nough for her. Guess he's right though, I'm really not... Never was. Never will be."

"Arthur..." you start, but he puts up a hand, and so you hold your tongue.

"I don't mean it how you think," he says with some defense, "While I'm not the one to gloat about myself, it's just the truth. She wants a man who is like her, and I ain't that. But she also only wants me whenever she can't get that."

That makes you tilt your head, and you murmur, "Sounds like the perfect woman."

Arthur gets a small kick out of that, and snorts. You smile softly, happy that you could at least bring something positive to his mood.

"Yeah, well, she tries to be, when she wants somethin'," he sets his empty bowl aside and takes his hat off, and he plays with the leather tethers on its bill between his fingertips, "That whole letter... She wrote to me, sayin' she missed me. Sayin' she wanted to see me again... And I guess, even after all this time, part of me still hopes. Still wants somethin', somethin' like what we had, or what we were going to..."

Jealousy stings in your throat, but you try your best to remain neutral, for Arthur's sake, "That's not wrong of you."

"Is when I should know better by now..." he hisses venomously, "Her husband just died of pneumonia, the one she left me for when daddy told her no years ago. Came to where she was stayin' to find out she's a widow. Made me think she wrote to me like I was gonna be some sort of replacement for him, but nah, I'm just an errand boy, apparently..." he glares, "Turns out her brother got mixed up with that weird, new religion out in the mountains, and she wanted me to go get him because she didn't know anyone else who could. Guess the benefit of keepin' a fool's heart is gettin' to play it when you need to..."

You make a small noise at that, and the wounded look on Arthur's face is enough to make your chest seize.

"She's horrible for doin' that to you," you say then, and Arthur glances at you as you go on, "She's also an idiot. You don't gloat about yourself, no, but you're a good man, Arthur. A kind man. You're an outlaw, yeah, but who hasn't gotten their hands dirty in some way? And, truth be told, you're more honorable than a lot of the people who have never had their face on a wanted poster, I can tell you that for sure."

Arthur's smile is weak, but it's there, and you feel a bit of pride for making that happen with his soured mood being as it is. It's a victory, and it's a damn good one to have.

He shakes his head, and sets his hat on the log beside him, "It's funny that you think that— she tells me I can't ever change, even told me that when she got on the train to leave... It's always come down to that. I'm not good enough, and I never will be because I can't change... Guess that's just what's got me upset..."

"Arthur Morgan, look at me."

Blue eyes meet your own, and you hold them for a second, licking your lips before you speak. You don't miss how he tracks the action for the smallest of seconds, but you try to be as honest as you can be as you speak.

"Change is somethin' we all do. It's somethin' we're all capable of, be it good, or bad. What Mary doesn't want to admit is that she doesn't want you to change any. She can't even expect you to change, not when she tries to keep you around for what you already are," Arthur's eyes widen at your honesty, but you continue, "But she's ignorant, because if she only sees you for bein' Dutch's right hand man, then she really only sees as far as what she desires from you. Because you're so much more than that. You're so much better than just that."

Arthur breathes softly then, pupils wide and voice quiet, "Sounds like you desire a lot..."

You flush, and you end up looking away, clearing your throat quietly, "It's— listen, Arthur, I'm serious... Maybe you're not a good man in your mind or in the blind eyes of society, but you try in the ways that matter. Because I'm sure that, despite her writin' you the way she did, you still helped her and saved her brother, didn't you?"

Arthur nods, brows furrowing.

"And it's that right there. That's what Mary refuses to see. It's what you refuse to see," you say, and you sigh then as Arthur frowns softly, "You don't have to be educated, or high class, or a saint whose only wrong is accidentally tramplin' a rabbit with your horse," you look away then to pick at a loose string on your pants leg, and you can hear Arthur stand from where he's across from you, "You can still do good, Arthur, and you do. You do despite the life that you have, when you could easily just be rotten to the core. That's what makes Mary the fool, not you."

You are caught by surprise as Arthur's boots come into view at your feet, and when you look up towards him, you are caught off guard by him quickly pulling you to his chest.

He holds you, arms wrapped tightly around you, his face buried in your neck.

" _Thank you,_ " he murmurs, and your skin prickles from the heat of his breath along your throat.

You swallow, "Y-You're welcome..."

It takes another moment, but Arthur finally pulls back, but just barely. His eyes overlook you for a few goods moments, and he licks his lips in consideration.

"You know, you never did say somethin', that night a few months ago," he murmurs, and he decides to take your hand in his, his eyebrows pinched.

Your tongue and heart stammer, and you ask, "W-What are you talking about?"

"When John said love is a fool's game," he says, and you feel your face heat then as Arthur looks at you dead in the eye, "Do you think it is?"

You stare for a few moments, your cheeks nothing but red, surely. But Arthur's gaze is unwaivering, and patient.

"Well, I—" you take a deep breath, "Guess I never had anyone worth playin' it with?"

"Me neither, really," Arthur admits, but he pauses, softly adding, "'Till now, I suppose... If you're willing."

Your breath gets caught in your throat, and you know for certain now that you look worse than Pearson after trying to skin a deer with the way you must be flushed.

Arthur chuckles, and rubs a thumb over your hand before setting it gently back onto your lap with reverence. You can hear Tilly and Mary-Beth already snickering and gossiping off to the side, but Arthur pays them no mind as he takes a step back.

"Just let me know if you wanna give it a try," he tells you then, and smiles warmly before turning and heading towards his tent, looking like he finally knows who hung the moon.

And you have to wonder, if the fools are really the ones who thought they lost after all.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt me at:  
> sunshinexlollipops.tumblr.com/promptask


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